


comfortable love

by quiteyet



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gallavich, M/M, i still never know what to tag these damn things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteyet/pseuds/quiteyet
Summary: i started writing this before 7x10 and 7x11 aired and it was just a scenario i really wanted to happen during those two episodes but obviously it didn't so here you go have my dead hopes and dreams





	

There's an irresistible sort of thrill for chaos in this, one that stings at your fingertips, aching to touch. One that lines your insides, sparking through your bones like a live wire, exposed at the nerve. For Ian, walls seem to close in. Pictures on the wall feel as though they might literally come alive, having one intention only and it was to strangle him. He was already choking on words, his blood running cold, so that seemed to be the last thing he needed. This was a toxic combination of all things, but Ian had always liked that, probably more than he should. 

So now that he's standing there, Mickey before him clad in a dark pair of sunglasses, his eyes bluer than he remembers once they're lifted off of his face. This longing overcomes him. Ian carries his bag over to the Jeep, tossing it inside along with himself. "Let's ride." The smile that graces his features once he speaks is catastrophic, paired with that same dirty thrill, poison and lust at the tip of his tongue. Mickey's just the same.

-  
It's nearly five in the morning and Ian's mind is hazy. For a moment, as they're both lulling tiredly into a vacant motel, Ian has to pause to collect himself. This was all real, this was all very real to the point where it didn't feel it. Ian's suddenly still world bursts into flames, his hazy mind is filled to the brim with all things Mickey. His eyes avert around him before they train onto Mickey, watching as he hoists both of their bags onto a tiny round dining table in the little suite. The subtle smile that quirks upwards onto the corner of Ian's mouth is something he can't help. What a ridiculous scenario he's found himself in, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Especially now. He could feel the universe judging him, but for once Ian silences it. For as long as he could remember that was never possible, but somehow he manages it tonight.

"It's not some five star shit but -- it's something." Mickey speaks up, breaking the silence that fills the space between them and the objects in the room. Ian releases a sigh, that subtle smile decorating his expression never faltering. "I like it. It's very uh, it's very us." That earns a laugh from Mickey and a playful roll of his eyes, unzipping his bag to pluck out some pajamas. "Whatever you say. I'm fucking exhausted." Ian nods, plopping himself down onto one of the beds. That's when he notices there's actually two beds, one for Ian and one for Mickey. The thought and sight of that earns something to rattle in his chest, he couldn't clearly decipher what it was, but it was something. Maybe he had missed Mickey more than he lead on. But perhaps that was something that didn't need to be said anymore. As of now, he's ditched everything for all of this. There's only the smallest pinch of regret, but only a pinch. He's more tired than he thought. 

"You good?" Mickey questions with a scoff, canting his head to the side. Mickey looks at him and Ian looks at him right back, missing the stupid blue hue of his eyes and the subtle freckles on his face, along with the shape of his mouth and the furrow of his brow. He almost wants to cry right then and there, but maybe that's the tiredness talking. The feeling in his chest increases, he still has no fucking idea what it is. "I'm good. Tired." They both change now, cheeky glances between sent between them, the silence that they interrupted being brought back to life again.

\-   
It's finally five in the morning and Ian is restless, Mickey just the same. They both lie on their own beds, the darkness of the room feeling as though it could swallow them whole at any second. It's all a battle of who is going to say it first, who is going to give that first push. They were always stubborn like that, never willing to compromise but somehow always managed too. Ian had missed that, probably more than he knows, but right now it seems to slowly kill him. But Ian was also known to be a little dramatic at times. Now seemed to be one of those times. 

"Ian." Mickey whispers, but it's loud enough to make the walls fall down. Ian sluggishly turns to his side, now facing Mickey, realizing Mickey has been staring at his back the entire time. That earns whatever rattles in his chest to tighten and coil. "Yeah?" Ian's voice is softer than he expected it to be, he's almost afraid Mickey might miss it, but he doesn't. He gives him a look, one Ian can't quite make out in the darkness of the room, but he knows what it is. That's another thing about them -- a lot was always unspoken. Words were never needed, sometimes even actions were never needed. A look is exchanged and suddenly Ian and Mickey would be taking over the world together. That was all they needed, anything was possible between their moments of silence and undying need and it was all for each other and nobody else.

With that notion, Ian is moving off of his mattress and over to Mickey, slipping himself under the blankets directly beside him. They both smile a bit, their breathing seeming to still as well as the world around them. Ian and Mickey's stupid still world on fire. Mickey's hand rests onto the pillow and Ian catches a glimpse of the tattoos that decorate his knuckles. "You know, when you were asleep I used to trace them. When I was manic and not medicated and never felt the need to sleep, of course." They both laugh a bit at that, both still just as hazy and stubborn as before. "I think I have them memorized now. The font, the style, where they're located. Everything." Ian's expression changes a bit now. It twists into something sadder this time. Maybe the thing that rattles in his chest was guilt. It felt close to it. "Since you've been gone I've been with two people. They're both uh, they're both nice guys. But you know, that's just it. They're nice guys. I look at their knuckles and there's nothing to trace. They're blank. They're nice but they're blank." Ian's lips purse for a moment before he continues, "I look for you in everyone, Mick. Even the slightest trace of you that I can muster from someone. It doesn't matter who it is, I'll always look. That's never going to stop and I know that. That fucking scares me." Ian's voice seems to tremble towards the end, his words still dialed down to a hushed tone despite his tremor. For once Ian doesn't speak on impulse and uncertainty, this stems from every single part of him.

It's evident that Mickey's expression falls now, his eyes wandering away from Ian for a brief moment, trying to collect the thoughts that currently make a mess in his brain. His lips part, wanting to say something, but words don't seem to come. Finally his gaze is averted to Ian again, his free hand reaching upwards to cup the side of Ian's face. Just as Ian had forgotten how blue Mickey's eyes were, Mickey had forgotten how nice Ian's skin felt. Gravity works against them as they move towards each other, their mouths molding together for the first time in what felt like forever. This time they both had forgotten how nice it felt to kiss each other and only each other. They'd look for each other in everyone, they knew that now. 

"I knew you'd come -- I knew you'd come." Mickey breathes out, his breath soon hitching in his throat, his nose pressed to Ian's cheek. Mickey is almost embarrassed by how much his voice shakes, mentally slapping himself just at the thought of it. But with the way Ian had been speaking, maybe he didn't need to be so ashamed. At least not right now. Ian shifts to hover over Mickey now, his hands moving to his sides. That thrill of all things pumps through the both of them once again and they both feel as though they might burst into flames again. It's an undying ache, one they'd always harbor for each other. It was never going to end either and as of now it was best to just accept it. This could go tons of ways and there was never a definite ending, but that was okay. It was chaotic but it would be okay.

A lump forms in Ian's throat, making him feel as though he's swallowing golf balls. He keeps their foreheads pressed together, his bottom lip quivering for a second as his head shakes. Of course Mickey notices and he's quick to rub the pad of his thumb against Ian's cheekbones. "Hey, it's okay." Mickey's voice is softer than it was before, something Ian has never heard before from his once lover. But it wasn't enough to rid of that tightness in his chest. It twists and rips him apart from the inside. "No, it - it's not fucking okay, Mick." Ian's voice comes out harsher than he intends it to be, but it's something he's never been able to help. It was mostly a harshness towards himself, an anger towards himself only. "I'm sorry.." This makes Mickey's brows knit together, not entirely understanding as he goes to speak once again in response to Ian's suddenly apology. "Sorry for what?" Ian shifts now, sitting up fully with his back against the wooden headboard above the two of them. "For everything. For dragging you into the shit show that's my life. For not visiting you when you were locked up. For not -- thanking you for being there for me during my diagnosis. For not doing better by you. I don't know." 

It was evident that being so open was difficult for Ian, his words verbally catch in his throat by the end and he's refraining from crying. Mickey sits up now, as well, shifting so he's sitting in front of Ian, their knees brushing together as he scoots in closer. "Ian," he starts, his voice somehow still softer than it's ever been, his tattooed hands reaching upwards to cup Ian's face. "It's okay. Hey, look at me, it's fine. You really think I give a fuck about an apology or a thank you?" Mickey's tongue darts out to wet his lips, trying to muster his thoughts. "If shit like this was easy we'd never do it. We'd never keep trying." Ian listens with reddened eyes and an open heart, a subtle smile breaking through the sadness that becomes his expression. "This shit is what keeps things going -- what keeps us going, Ian. Don't let anyone tell you what you should want or should do. Don't fucking settle because you think that's what everyone expects from you. I don't expect you to be anyone but you, you hear me?"

Mickey finishes speaking and Ian feels a bit frozen, his heart pumping and his mind still but somehow racing at the same time. Everything all at once. That's always been them. Nothing but everything all at once. It was a confusing but joy ride of a sensation and Ian knows for a fact that nothing would ever replace that feeling, everything would be perpetually dull in comparison. It angers Ian knowing he even attempted to try and forget this or to let it go. Out of all things that were impossible in his life, this was at the top of the list. Mickey Milkovich was never leaving his mind and heart and he had to accept that. He would, he will. Once again, words weren't needed. So Ian leans in again, cupping Mickey's neck as their mouths mold together again. 

"I love you. I do, you know that, right? I love you." Ian whispers between shaky breaths and french kisses. Mickey releases a scoff, the pads of his fingers moving against Ian's cheeks. "I know." They both smile now, letting out quiet fits of laughter. "When did you become so profound?" Ian asks, pulling Mickey on top of him now, feeling an instant sense of warmth and relief once their bodies collide. He could grow used to that feeling. Relief. Mickey just stares at him, that same fond smirk that graces his expression never diminishing, not even once. They both know the answer, maybe even the entire world did, but maybe they were both still too stubborn to admit it. Too stubborn and living in their own still world on fire. "I'll let you know when I find out."


End file.
